Content Warning

Greetings and Salutations.
Because my stories have bite, they can contain content that isn't suitable for work or children. Not a lot of truly graphic sex or violence, but there are some questionable or heated posts. F-bombs are not uncommon, so watch your footing.

Friday, September 2, 2011

#FridayFlash - Sketchy

Everyone knows tweekers came up with the term sketchy. It doesn't just mean acting like a little sketch, half there and not fully formed.

It's meant to describe when you're seeing half-formed images in the corner of your eyes, the line drawings of people and things.

Not everyone knows that the sketchy things are real.

I used to think it was just the drugs. I used to judge how much sleep I needed by how close they got, how solid they became. When they started talking to me, it was time to lay off.

But then I started seeing them even when I was straight.

That threw me for one. I didn't even touch Vicodin for six weeks. Figured I had to be on my way to permafried. Didn't need to end up in a loony bin, so I tried to detox.

None of it helped. The sketchy people kept coming to me, kept talking to me. I couldn't avoid them anymore, so I smoked me a big bowl of crystal and had a long conversation with them.

Turns out they're from another dimension or something, and they got stuck between the worlds. Only time people can see them is when their perceptions are all messed up.

I'm one of the lucky few who can actually help them. If I let them get solid enough, they can use me as a conduit, or something like that.

So that's why I was buying dope, officer. I'm trying to save a special race.